


We’re Starting Over

by noodlesforbrains



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, aka both of them are so oblivious to their own feelings, legitimately the slowest burn of romances i’m sorry it’s just how i write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29476719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlesforbrains/pseuds/noodlesforbrains
Summary: Three years after the end of the war, Byleth finds her life as ruler of the newly United Fodlan treading dangerously close to routine. For the first time in her memory she has the time to take a breath and ask herself what, or who, she actually wants in her new life.As she considers what exactly she wants from her new life, her ever-loyal advisor stands by her side throughout, offering what advice he can to help pull her life into focus.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 37
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

Byleth blinked slowly, her head and her brow heavy as she felt a yawn threatening to rise up and out of her chest. The tedium of the day was starting to wear on her. It was the same routine this day as it had been the last— sitting and waiting, playing audience to the complaints of various lords and ladies, dictating missives, dispensing money, dispatching troops. Always listening as on and on they went, always mediating. It wasn’t all so bad, but by the goddess, she missed the days when she could solve an issue by swinging a sword.

Monarchy was not quite what she had expected, nor had it been what she had wanted. She supposed that in peacetime this tedium was the ideal, but still, she felt out of place in a world without war or a need for her blade. She had traded her sword for a crown and the sharpened nib of her pen, neither of which she was particularly adept with. Her advisor stood by her side throughout it all — thank the goddess for that. He was much better suited for the role, instructing her where to sign or making her privy to the lesser known machinations of those who made requests of her. Nearly every day, their routine was the same. He would stand by her as she worked through her stacks of paperwork, leaning over to whisper a word of caution or advice, voicing his assent or dissent for various proposed measures. She would always thank him for his aide at the end of their sessions, and he would bow to her with a shallow tip of his head, each bidding the other a good night. They would retreat in opposite directions down the hall to their separate quarters, and she would slowly let herself come undone once she was entombed within the privacy of her own room. 

She hadn’t expected that leading a nation would be quite so — well, dull. 

Byleth tapped her fingers along the edge of her desk, feeling the slight coat of left from a recent polish. She sneered at the greasy sheen at her fingers, wiping it away on her skirt without thought before turning back to her desk once more. It was a never ending deluge of reading materials, a mountain of parchment that seemingly replenished itself of its own accord. None of this was supposed to have fallen to her. But Claude was gone now; she was all they had left. She was a general and a tactician, not a queen. She couldn’t help but feel that maybe she was doing a poor job. She struggled to find anything in her work that gave her the same sense of meaning as leading her students into the fray; as slashing through enemy reinforcements in the name of the goddess, in the seemingly impossible pursuit of peace. She had understood her role in war. Now, she wasn’t entirely sure what exactly she was meant to be. 

“Your majesty?” Seteth cleared his throat, shifting as his voice cut through the silence. Byleth blinked, and pulled herself away from her thoughts.

Her advisor bristled next to her, his stiffly ironed robes crinkling with his movement. He stooped down over her, bringing himself down closer to her line of vision and squinting with his hawkish gaze. His green eyes focused in on hers as he searched to bring her back to the present. It was as though he was observing her for a case of head trauma. In the past she might have found the furrow of his brow to be patronizing, but she had long since realized that such was far from Seteth’s intentions. She stared back at him for a moment, unblinking, trying to match his intensity. Her eyes felt as though they were burning from the effort, as her own exhaustion won out. 

“Apologies,” she said. She exhaled deeply through her nose. “I was momentarily distracted, although I can assure you I am not concussed, if that’s your concern. Couldn’t even tell you the last time I hit my head.”

Seteth sighed. The crease in his brow grew deeper, though his mouth softened a bit from its hard-set line. 

“You must realize that statement is less-than reassuring.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and shook his head at her. Byleth couldn’t help but roll her eyes, waving off his derision.

“I know, I know. It’s just a stupid joke. All back to business now, see?” She set her face as straight as she could, sitting up tall, trying to make herself as upright as Seteth, though that was an impossible task. ”You need my signature, yes?”

Without taking his eyes off of her, Seteth reached within a large folder of documents, and produced a slip of parchment. 

“If it pleases you. House Fraldarius would like to annex some undisputed land to the north, not quite to the border of Streng territory, and has asked for your majesty’s signature of approval,”

Seteth placed the parchment on her desk in front of her, and in the same motion, nudged an ink pot and quill with his little finger to rest closer to Byleth’s hand. There was a map of the proposed annexation on the parchment. She examined it for a moment, the bridge of her nose crinkling slightly as she reviewed territory lines.

“I trust you have already reviewed and researched their proposition?” she asked, rotating the paper slightly as she continued to appraise the map. She had only been to Faerghus a handful of time, but this at least felt more familiar. She appraised the map as though it were a plan for battle, with territory lines like enemy encampments, and thin traces of ink marking the roads and trade routes. Seteth walked around to the other side of the desk to face her.

“Indeed. There are no known disputes in the area, nor any competing claims to the land,” he said. He gesticulated languidly as he spoke, though one arm he kept tucked behind his back as if to balance himself. Byleth watched his fingers trace through the air, drawing out an indecipherable pattern. “I believe it to be a wise move on the part of House Fraldarius, and I do believe it is to the benefit of the commoners currently residing there as well, as they would gain some access to Lord Fraldarius’ resources.”

Byleth nodded, feeling a slight tightness spread across her chest at the mention of Lord Fraldarius.

“And Felix— I should say, Lord Fraldarius? Does he have any comments on the matter?” she asked. 

Her cheeks flushed slightly. She could not help but try to keep up in the lives of her students, even though it had been nearly three years since they had formally disbanded. With each passing month, the task was getting harder and harder. They seemed to move across the continent endlessly, capitalizing on their freedom from the war a bit too much for her to keep up with. Her head would spin as she tried to remember who had taken up residence where, what travels they had embarked on, and what lines of business they now found themselves in. Still, the mere mention of any one of them brought her a great swell of pride. 

She took a long, slow breath. She had been feeling unusually emotional lately, as though anything might knock the wind out of her. She cursed Sothis for that— it seemed a cruel joke to play to open her up to these things, but not offer her the guidance on how to process or how to express her newfound depth of emotion. That, or perhaps she was simply getting softer with time. A strange thought, but if Byleth was being honest with herself, it was likely not far from the truth. She swallowed, and pulled her face back into a neutral expression. Seteth nodded; if her facade had slipped at all, he did not make note of it. 

“Lord Fraldarius has sent message that he vows to protect these new lands with his sword or to die by it, as I believe he put it.”

Byleth chuckled. “That does sound like Felix. The annexation is approved, provided resources will be shared equitably between the two.” She put her quill to the parchment, and quickly scrawled her signature. “Please inform Lord Fraldarius of the decision immediately. And if you could,” she added, her voice dropping in volume, “please have the courier pass along my greetings to Felix as well. Let him know that I wish him well.”

Seteth nodded —a small, curt gesture —and took the parchment from her desk. He tapped at the signature with a light touch of his pinky to ensure it was dry before rolling it up tightly and tying it up with a thin silk ribbon. “Of course, your majesty. And I shall keep you informed of any messages in return.”

Byleth nodded. She watched intently as Seteth retrieved a golden seal from one of the drawers of a nearby side table before pouring hot wax from a slow burning candle over the ends of the ribbon. He pressed the seal to the wax delicately, slowly pressing it further into its crimson pool, taking care as he lifted the seal and observed the impression. Byleth brought her elbows up to rest along the edge of her desk, and intertwined her fingers together in front of her, resting her chin on her braced knuckles. A lone strand of hair untucked itself from behind her ear as she settled in. Annoyed, she took a breath and blew at the stray wisp of hair in front of her. It danced along her cheekbone, flitting across the planes of her face, but refused to stay in place. She could feel Seteth’s eyes upon her as he watched, crossing his arms lightly across his chest as she continued to lose herself in this failing endeavor.

“Are you…feeling quite alright, your majesty?” Seteth asked. Byleth turned her eyes towards him lazily, though came to with a jolt down her spine as she recalled her surroundings once more.

She sat up straight, pushing herself and her chair away from the desk with both hands. Trying to maintain an air of composure that she feared she had lost altogether, she waved a loose-wristed hand in the air.

“Of course I’m fine, Seteth. Nothing to trouble me,” she said. “I find that my mind simply wanders at times. No need to work yourself up over it, truly.”

She began to make her way towards the door, intending to end her day as she always did, thanking Seteth for his work before dismissing him for the evening. Before she could reach the threshold, she found Seteth’s hand blocking her path, reaching for the door handle. He pulled the door closed slowly and silently, looking her up and down as he did so. His head cocked slightly with his ministrating eye, his shock of ever-perfectly groomed hair swaying with the turn of his head.

“Your majesty, forgive my intrusion, but where exactly does your mind wander as of late?” he asked. His voice had grown much quieter than it was a moment ago, hardly more than a whisper that he breathed into the air between them.

Byleth felt a heat rise to her face. She refused to meet his gaze, casting her eye downward to her feet. In years past, she would have found herself teeming with quiet indignation under the weight of Seteth’s silent glare, but she had realized long ago that it was not a look of judgement he passed between them. No —he rather had an unconventional, and at times unsettling, way of expressing his concern. 

She considered for a moment brushing his inquiry aside and dismissing him all the same. She knew though that this would not stay Seteth’s worry, and instead would likely redouble his growing concern. She shook her head, and gestured to the sofa in front of the hearth, dropping unceremoniously into her seat on the left side. Seteth lowered himself down slowly to sit on the edge of the seat next to her. His body turned towards her slightly, though he kept his distance from her, as he always did. 

She could feel his eyes boring into her. He did not say a word though, and waited for her to speak of her own accord. She folded her hands in her lap, joining and rejoining the fingers over each other, trying to organize her thoughts from the nebula of unspeakable emotion growing inside her into a thread of tangible ideas. 

“In truth, I do feel as though I have been clouded as of late,” she began. She fidgeted a bit in her seat, suddenly aware of how heavy her body felt. She reached to pinch her brow, closing her eyes to their growing tension before continuing with a sigh. “I...I am always thinking of the past. Not that I wish I had done anything differently, but I think I miss it. The sense of purpose it gave me.”

“I see.” Seteth leaned forward in his seat, although still not allowing himself to sit too comfortably or close to her. “And what purpose was that?”

“Protector. Teacher. Leader. I could swing my sword and feel like I was accomplishing something. Now...well, the feeling is diminished.”

“Are you not still all of those things and more as queen?”

“In theory, yes,” Byleth acquiesced, “but you can’t tell me there’s the same satisfaction to be had in signing some ordinance as there is in stepping out onto a battlefield before first light, breath cold in front of you, ground half-frozen, with blood pounding in your ears to keep you warm.”

Seteth leaned back and settled deeper into his seat, exhaling deeply as he shook his head. “No, they are entirely different matters. But one is not less important or worthy than the other. You have purpose still, far greater than I believe you will accept. You have to reframe your way of thinking about it.”

“Oh, if that’s all…” Byleth rolled her eyes and scoffed. “You make it sound easy.” 

She looked to Seteth with the faint glint of a challenge in her eyes. She found this melting away though as his expression softened, looking to her with no crease to his brow, no turn to the corner of his lips. There was only what she believed to be earnest concern coloring his face. He cleared his throat, and he seemed to be working through several different thoughts before he spoke, his mouth moving as though he was tasting the words before uttering them. Byleth watched with some amusement as his face cycled through several different emotions as he planned out his words. It likely wasn’t noticeable to most, the small twitches in his face, but they had been working together long enough that Byleth had come to recognize these fine changes. He finally landed on something between concern and resignation. He pressed his fingers to his temple as if trying to ward off a headache that had not yet taken hold. 

“If you will permit me: I am your advisor. In my base capacity, that means that I am at your disposal for any consultation for matters of state. But, in my role, I am also someone that must know you well, both as a professional and personal courtesy. Thus, I would like to offer you a piece of advice, from my own experience. Would you permit such?”

Byleth blinked and swallowed. “It’s your prerogative to do so.” 

Seteth narrowed his eyes at her slightly before continuing. 

“I have spent many, many years of my life trying to live in a version of the past. I clung to memories and an identity long gone, and in doing so, I stagnated. It was to the detriment of those who depended upon me as I refused to move forwards. What I realized far too late from my experience is that you cannot find new purpose in your life until you let your past lay behind you, nor can you experience new happiness. In constantly revisiting the past, you take away your ability to make memories of the present. Your memories, your past —they are like a well which you dip into when you are parched, not a pool to drown yourself in. Moving forwards there will be days where you experience sadness, or pain, or anger instead of joy. But you must let yourself feel all of these things, rather than relegate yourself to something long gone. In doing so, you open yourself up to feel new joy, and perhaps in such you may find a new sense of purpose as well.”

Byleth stared at Seteth, feeling quite breathless, but doing her best to meet his gaze with the cold intensity that had once made her students feel unnerved by her presence. Seteth, however, did not budge as he held her gaze. It was becoming harder for her to hold the expression, and so she turned her eyes away to the empty fireplace. She and Seteth sat in silence for a long moment, the only noise coming from the slight creaking of the sofa beneath them. 

“I do not wish to chastise you, your majesty,” Seteth spoke finally, his voice softening. “If I have overstepped my bounds in this matter, I offer my sincere apologies.”

“No, of course not,” Byleth said, dismissing the would-be apology immediately. “As you say, you are my advisor. It is your job to advise, even if I find myself less-than-keen to heed your words.”

Byleth rose from her chair, and in three long strides, walked to the door. She erected herself as tall as she possibly could as she pushed it open, and gestured to the hallway outside. “I thank you for your input, and will take it under consideration. You may take your leave. Goodnight, Seteth.”

Without a word, Seteth rose from his seat, pausing for a moment in front of her before bowing with a slight tip of his head. 

“Goodnight, your majesty.”

With the same uprightness he always displayed, he hurriedly made his way off to locate a courier, a rare sight this late in the evening. Byleth stood in the doorway and watched him move down the hall until he disappeared from view, then took her own leave of the office. 

She unlocked the doors to her quarters amongst the highest lofts of the monastery, silently making her way inside. She set about building a fire for herself in the hearth, laying kindling and wood in a careful construction, just like her father had taught her so many years ago. Byleth spoke a word and a flame rose to her fingers, though she could not feel the burn as the kindling ignited at her touch. She rose to fill a kettle, settling it amongst the glowing embers to make a cup of tea. 

She didn’t quite know what Seteth had meant, how to divest herself of her past without forgetting it entirely. She was her past, and the labels that people had assigned to her. Everything else was murky, like a field enshrouded in fog. It would be easier if she had any idea of what she wanted in the future, for herself. She had spent so long moving along to the plans of others, she had nearly forgotten what it meant to want. If she could look forward, perhaps then the past wouldn’t fill her mind at nearly every moment. Maybe then she could find time to want something for herself, to have the hope of planning a future of her own making. 

The scream of the kettle pierced her thoughts. She paced the room with her cup of tea in hand. No, she would not be able to forget her past so easily. But perhaps there was some value in trying to embrace her new way of life. It was a far sight from anything she had experienced before, but in time maybe this life could finally feel like it belonged to her.


	2. Chapter 2

Byleth rose with the dawn, as she did most mornings. In the few precious moments she had before someone came vying for her attention she stood and stretched before her open window. The sunlight caught upon the scars that stretched across her shoulders and legs, and the few stray pock marks from arrows she took to her side. She took in the topography of her skin, each mark from a blade like a rivulet travelling across her body. Even with the goddess’ power to turn back time, she still had to take her fair share of blows. If it had meant she could keep one of her students safe from a worse fate, she did so with relish. On restless nights, she would relive the memories of their twisted faces, their cries of anguish as they fell before her, her own screams piercing the air as she changed the flow of time to save them. She had watched them all die in one way or another; taken down by a stray arrow, chests split open by the head of an axe, cleaved through from navel to throat by a sharp blade. It would bring bile to her throat as she remembered their last breaths and their final pleas to the goddess for mercy.

In this way, her scars were a blessing. She winced as she stretched her arms above her head. Her shoulder was tight again. She rolled it backwards and forwards, and pulled it across her chest in the hopes of loosening it. It was no good; despite the stretching and the ointments she applied daily, she was not as strong as she had been only a few short years ago. She tried not to mourn the fact, but there was no avoiding the reality that her body was not what it had been in war. At least it was still functional. Plenty of those who had gone to battle with her could not say the same.

She dressed quickly, pushing aside her official adornments and her ceremonial garb, and instead opting for a linen blouse, a straight black skirt, and a deep blue woolen cloak that she pulled over herself to keep the morning cold at bay. The color reminded her of her hair — well, what it used to be. She missed her cobalt tresses, the mint still at times feeling unfamiliar to her. There were still days where she awoke, maybe after a night of a few too many drinks with Manuela, and nearly screamed when she saw herself in the mirror. A stranger would stare back at her, blinking furiously and copying her actions, until she remembered herself once more.

Byleth groaned as she looked to herself in the mirror now. It was not so much the color of her hair that she found so appalling, but the overall state of the unruly mass, knotted and sticking out at odd angles like a crown made of tumbleweeds. She fussed with her hair for a moment, pushing it back into a bun so tight that the hair pulled at the edges of her face, then shoving the whole thing back forward again, hiding her features beneath her waves. It was simply not worth the effort, not that she had the skills for it anyway. She felt miserably inept when she tried to make herself ‘presentable’ in whatever capacity that meant to her audience of the day. The fancy plaits and chignons of noble ladies— these were skills she had not practiced or learned during her life as a mercenary, unless it was to braid a horse’s tail or to do her best to tie up her father’s hair for him. To think that she could make herself look the part of the queen on her own was foolish, as she was well aware. The best she could do for today was try to loosen the most odious of knots by gently combing through her hair with her fingers, feeling satisfied once it all lay flat once more. She used what little time she had left to herself to hurriedly grab a cup of tea before heading down to the second floor.

She took a deep breath as her feet set upon the landing that led to the faculty offices. She could smell the slow burn of a candle’s wick, the warmed wax and the rising soot from its flame; she could nearly taste the rich butter of that morning’s pastries as their scent wafted up high through the windows from the dining hall. Distantly, she could hear the noises of students rising. The scraping of chairs against the floor, the stumbles and trips of students running down the corridor, and the laughter like a bell ringing through the hall as they greeted one another. Her breath hitched in her chest. It was her favorite sound in the world, students eager to learn, living their lives amongst the halls of the monastery. She wish she knew the current class better, but there was never enough time.

She was just finishing her cup of tea as she stepped into her office. Nearly as soon as she had walked in, she heard the door shut behind her. She waited for a moment at the window, watching the students pass beneath with a faint smile. Almost involuntarily, her hand raised up to press itself against the cool glass for a moment, her breath leaving a haze upon its surface before she turned around.

“Not a moment lost this morning, Seteth,” she said. She took her seat at her desk, and gestured for Seteth to take the one opposite her. He nodded as he tucked into the chair.

“Indeed. As you are aware, the work is never quite done.”

“Hmm. Maybe for an addict like you, but I fully intend to rest...eventually,” she said, though even to her the words sounded deflated as they came out.

“You say as much with such a lack of conviction, I find it hard to believe you” Seteth stifled a laugh at her. “Try as you might to belay otherwise, I do know how restless you get when you have no work to sink your teeth into.”

“True, but don’t let others onto that fact. If they find out, I’ll be cursed to work forever, and I will have you to blame for such.”

Seteth gave a small shrug in way of recognition. He reached into his pocket and produced a thin envelope that he pinched between his fingers. Byleth took a steadying breath and groaned.

“And what business is there to start this morning?” She reached out her hand for the letter, mentally steeling herself for the start of another long day. To her surprise, Seteth’s mouth pulled itself up into a smirk as he handed it over to her.

“I will let you read for yourself, but some happy news for you, I believe.” He leaned back in his chair, watching as she turned the letter over in her hand.

She noticed first the seal which had been carefully loosened so as to maintain the image impressed upon it. Blue wax, not the typical deep crimson she saw all the more frequently. Odd, she thought. The seal was not one that she recognized from any lords or ladies whose missives passed her desk all the more frequently. Impressed upon the wax was the image of a small circle of lilies, a dove in the center in flight amongst the flowers. Though she did not recognize it, she did have to admit that she found the image quite charming. She produced a small card from within, and cleared her throat as she began to read the letter aloud.

_“To Her Majesty of Fodlan, Ms. Byleth Eisner,_

_You are cordially invited to a celebration of the union of Miss Marianne von Edmund to Mister Linhardt von Hevring. A ceremony is to be held on the evening of the seventeenth of the Garland Moon at the home of Margrave Edmund. Please join us in sharing in the joy of their union, and in wishing them many years of happiness to come.”_

Beneath the tidy print of the invite was a handwritten note. The neat, narrow script was unmistakable as Marianne’s.

_“Dear Professor,_

_It would make both myself and Linhardt ever so happy if you could find the time to join us for our vows. I know you are very busy these days, but I do hope that the goddess will deign to give you a day of rest so that you may attend. We both miss you dearly, and I pray to the goddess everyday for your prosperity and continued success._

_Forever your fond student,_

_Marianne”_

Byleth smiled. She turned the letter over in her hand, and began to reread it to herself immediately. She missed her Deer tremendously, and though he had not initially been a part of her class, she knew Linhardt to be a kind, honest young man. Peculiar, as well, but his peculiarities seemed to have been one of the few things that could make Marianne laugh while she was still a student. Byleth had nothing but fondness for the pair, which was only magnified by the announcement of their pending marriage.

Seteth cleared his throat quietly. Byleth had almost forgotten that he was seated across from her.

“I take it that you are pleased by the announcement, yes?” He smiled at her, and Byleth felt the color rising to her cheeks.

“Overjoyed,” she replied. She placed the letter on the desk in front of her. Her fingers trailed along the creases in the parchment, smoothing it flat against the desk’s surface. “I know it’s not a small matter to arrange, but if there is any way…”

Her words trailed off. She took a breath that hitched in her chest before finding purchase somewhere deep in her ribs. Without meaning to speak, she found the words tumbling out of her.

“I just… I miss them all terribly, Seteth. So much it pains me every single day. I want them to be happy in this new world, and I wish I could be there for each of their lives. I fear I’m losing them all.” She looked at Seteth with her eyes wide. She felt a sense of disbelief at the words that poured forth from her, as though there had been a dam that burst inside of her. More embarrassingly, she felt the sting of a tear welling up.

Seteth shifted his weight in his seat, and reached his hand across the desk. Byleth stared at the long, ringed fingers for a moment before sliding her hand closer to his, almost involuntarily letting their hands wrap around one another. The small act of familiarity was unexpected from her usually stiff-laced advisor, but then again she knew that even he felt a particular weakness for the subjects of her class. His own daughter had counted among them, after all. She supposed it was natural he should feel something similar to her at the news of the upcoming wedding as well.

“Then we shall ensure that you are able to attend,” he said, smiling softly at her. “Anything that can be done to bring you some happiness.”

He squeezed her hand gently before shifting back in his seat, withdrawing away. Byleth nodded, grateful for the subsiding feeling of oncoming tears. She tried to turn her expression into a small smile.

“I’ll hold you to it. After all, I’m still not entirely convinced you haven’t cursed me to a life without rest, even for a day.”

Seteth chuckled at this.

“If that is the case, I will gladly take the burden in your stead. Consider me cursed in your place should the need for a reprieve arise.”

“I don’t think that’s how curses work,” Byleth said with a shake of her head. She smiled at Seteth, and felt a hint of heat rise to her cheeks when he smirked back at her.

Byleth pondered for a moment how foreign these small exchanges still felt to her. She and Seteth had become many things to each other during the war and in the years after, but perhaps the strangest was the fact that she considered him a friend. She would not have thought it possible when they first met, distrustful of one another as they were. In her first few months at the monastery she had felt nearly certain that he was planning her demise on a daily basis, and she trusted him no more than she did Rhea. These doubts had melted away with time, dissipating as they shared meals and tea, settling into one another’s company as they built a tentative respect for one another. She realized he was not at all Rhea’s lapdog as she feared. He was a trusted ally, sharp and discerning on and off the battlefield, hesitant to trust unless it had been earned. And she believed she had more than proved herself trustworthy to him now, as he had shared much of his own history that he kept entirely guarded from others. Just as much friend as advisor, she now relied on him for a small smile of reassurance in the same way she sought him out for a word of guidance.

She still churned through these thoughts as she started to work through the piles of documents in front of her, looking over her schedule of meetings for the day. There were still the regular matters of business to attend to, but mercifully, their numbers were few. Byleth’s own mood was buoyed by the letter throughout the work, as she felt as though a warmth was radiating out from deep within her chest. Though her own heart did not beat, it did not mean there wasn’t something within her that burned, making her feel warm and light all at once. She caught herself smiling throughout the day, mostly noticing when she could feel Seteth’s eyes upon her. She would peer up at him from the corner of her eye, and try to seem very serious as she cleared her throat when she had been caught in the act. She’d mumble something about the reading materials in her hand, trade agreements being the document of the day, and ask Seteth what he thought of the matter.

She did not wish the warm feeling inside of her to fade away, but it would be foolhardy to believe it would last unabated for the weeks leading to the wedding. While a voice in the back of her mind told her to prepare for disappointment, to ready herself for the eventuality that her own work may bar her from attending, she refused to give in to these thoughts. With her regular work attended to, she requested that Seteth write a response to Margrave Edmund to confirm that she would attend. He wrote a missive in print so clear it looked as though it had come off a printing press. It never failed to impress Byleth, and she wondered how many books in the school’s library had been written by the same hand. Seteth assured her that he would make all of the necessary arrangements for travel and for her stay. Before he sent the note off, she spread the parchment across her desk, dipping her own pen into her silver inkwell to write a response, albeit in her much sloppier, slanted hand.

_”Dearest Marianne and Linhardt,_

_Nothing could bring me greater joy than the love you have found in each other. It is my honor to be in attendance at your special day. I have missed you both terribly, and am thrilled that we will soon see each other again. You continue to be the source of my greatest pride. I wish you happiness a hundred times over; may nothing but joy and love precede the ceremony, and follow you after._

_Your Teacher,_

_Byleth Eisner”_

The letter was sealed and sent off immediately. Byleth felt a rush of relief as she watched it pass into the courier’s hands, carried off down the hall and out of sight. Her work finished, she decided to take a rare stroll about the grounds of the monastery before she retired for the evening. Most of the students had gone back to their rooms or the library to study for the night, but she knew there were always one or two hiding amongst the columns, whispering words to each other that they thought no one would hear. They always thought they were being much more inconspicuous than they were as they rushed out to meet one another in secret. She chuckled at the thought, remembering some of the attempted meetings and would-be dalliances she had interrupted between her own students.

The dimming sun cast a scarlet hue over the grounds, making the tops of the greenery look as though it was ablaze with the light. Flowers turned every shade of crimson and orange in the setting sun. She shuddered as she felt the scene silp away into the haze of her memories. Then, the monastery had glowed with the flames that licked its walls, the stones half-reduced to rubble and ash as they were besieged by the Adrestian Empire. It was one of the last things she had seen before she had fallen that day, losing so many years of her life to the all-consuming darkness that felt like a blink of an eye to her. She could still hear the scream that pierced the air as she fell, her name being called from the brink and echoing through her head as the wind rushed past her, drowning out all other sound. Though she could hear the voice so clearly in her mind, it seemingly belonged to a ghost. She had never been able to identify who had called out to her that day; no voice she heard on the battlefield in subsequent years matched the one that lived in her memory. She was half-able to convince herself that she must have imagined it. But still, when she would dream of that day it was always the same voice that awoke her from the nightmare, pulling her back to the waking world before everything could fade to black.

The voice still rang in her head as she continued across the monastery. She ran her hand along the iron bars of a fence as she passed. The cool touch of the metal briefly reignited the memory of a sword within her hands. As she walked, she continued to imagine the weight and feel of her blade — a cold, cruelly formed weapon that would suddenly warm and come alive with her every move in battle. It moved with her like an extension of her very own body, a limb that sprung forth with the lithe grace of a dancer.

With the war over, the time for this dance had ended. In a last rite before Rhea’s departure to Zanado, they had buried her blade once again in Garreg Mach’s tombs. She had earned her rest. They all had, in their own ways. Maybe one day Byleth would content herself to take hers as well.

As the sun cast its last long shadow, Byleth returned to her room high amongst the clouds of the monastery. She stood in her courtyard and watched as the waxing moon began to rise. She undressed herself by its light before withdrawing to the comforts of her bed, curling her knees up tight to her chest as she prayed for a dreamless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seteth: I want you to be happy  
> Byleth: ???? Never heard of her, but okay
> 
> Thank you so much for the positive feedback on the first chapter! It truly brightened my mood throughout the week. Hope you enjoy this second chapter, as it starts to get into something more akin to plot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: no Seteth in this chapter. Feel free to skip if that’s not for you! Instead, have some gals being pals (tm) with Manuela.

Byleth idly popped a soap sud rising to the top of her bath with the tip of her finger. A warm bath filled to the brim with soft bubbles was a rare treat for her, even as the queen. As a mercenary, such a luxury had never existed. When she had been travelling with her father, bathing hadn’t exactly been high on the priority list in-between jobs. Good food and a warm tavern usually took precedent then. At best, Byleth could find time for a quick wash with a cold, damp cloth and a slap on the cheek to wake her up before they trudged onto whatever work Jeralt had managed to rustle for the day. In war, she hadn’t fared much better. There had never been enough time between the battles and the constant war room councils. She had insisted though that her students take the time to relax and bathe between battles. For them, it was a matter of necessity, the smallest measure taken to keep them feeling human. For her, it was something she had learned to live without. She had to admit though, the baths, though still less frequent than she would have preferred, were a perk of her current job that she enjoyed. 

She let her head fall back against the edge of the basin, the cast iron warm from the rising wisps of steam. The scent of sandalwood and jasmine wafted up through the air. She breathed it in, splashing some of the water at her neck, running a finger down along her throat. For a moment, she let her hand linger there, breathing out and melting deeper into the basin of the bathtub, eyes closing slowly. 

Her reverie was broken by a sound at the door. There was a knock, three short and sharp raps in a row, followed by the muffled sound of a voice.

“My dear, darling Byleth,” the muffled voice beseeched in a drawling tone, “can you spare a moment for a friend? I’ve had the most awful day, and I’ve brought some wine to talk it over with.”

Byleth smiled, bringing herself upright with a hint of a groan. She quickly worked to rearrange some of the bubbles over herself, although the attempt at modesty didn’t make much of a difference to her.

“Of course! Come in,” she called. 

Nearly as soon as she spoke, the door flung open wide and Manuela came sauntering in. In her hand was a bottle of wine which Byleth suspected had already been opened, and two glasses held precariously by their stems in between her fingers. Manuela scanned the room back and forth, her face twisting in confusion as she failed to spot Byleth. Byleth laughed from her hidden vantage point; Manuela had definitely consumed a drink or two on her own before making her ways upstairs. Like a top being set into motion, Manuela spun around on her heel at the noise as she finally spied her target. She smiled, and walked to the edge of the bath.

“My my, aren’t we quite the lush? You tease me, darling.”

Manuela set the glasses down on the floor, then reached a hand into the bath. She swirled the water for a moment, then flicked a large mass of bubbles towards Byleth. Byleth smirked.

“No tease; you’re welcome to join.”

Manuela laughed. She splashed a bit of the water in Byleth’s face. The stray soap suds that Manuela sent flying clung to her wet hair, sliding down in a pathetic crawl before settling in along her shoulders.

“You are a worse flirt than I am, dear. Pity you’ve picked so poor a subject. Now if you were a man, I would have crawled in without needing to be asked,” Manuela said. She chuckled at the sight of Byleth soaked, her hair clinging stubbornly to her face. Byleth pushed the strands back and behind her ears. She flicked some of the bubbles off her collarbone with the back of her hand. 

“What a shame. It doesn’t make a difference to me whether or not you are a man,” Byleth replied. She reached over the top of the tub and grabbed one of the glasses Manuela had set down, extending it out to be filled, which Manuela obliged without hesitation. Byleth took a long sip of the sweet red wine.

“If I could say the same, I imagine I’d be married a hundred times over by now. But no,” Manuela sighed, “the heart wants what the heart wants, and mine stubbornly insists otherwise.”

Manuela filled her own glass, clinking it against Byleth’s before she took a large swig. Byleth looked up at Manuela. She was still beautiful, her honey colored hair sweeping back across her high cheeks as she took a sip from her glass. Her curves had softened slightly over time, which Byleth thought had only made her more charming. More than her looks though, Byleth knew that beneath the outward penchant for chaos and tendency for some level of dysfunction, Manuela was a kind and compassionate friend. It was a pity that the men in her life could not see the same. 

“Manuela, I am all ears to hear about your latest heartbreak, but first, would you please do me a favor?” Byleth asked.

Manuela sunk to her knees in front of the bath, crossing her arms against its edge as she looked up at Byleth with a pout, and soft, doe-like eyes. Byleth placed a hand on her cheek, and gave a little pat.

“Of course, my darling,” Manuela said. “Anything you could possibly desire —just tell me.”

Byleth pointed across the room with a nod.

“Would you please close the door?”

Manuela rose to her feet with a clatter. She hurriedly trotted across the room, her heels clicking like a tap dancer’s across the wood floor. She looked up and down the hallway for any errant souls that she might have to threaten to forget the image of their queen in the bath. Presumably spotting none, she slammed the door shut, then proceeded to kick off her heels and throw them haphazardly in the direction of Byleth’s bed. For a moment, Byleth pictured them sailing straight through the window, shattering the glass as they flew through the air. It was a miracle that such an accident hadn’t already occurred, as frequent of a habit as it was for Manuela. Before making her way back, Manuela grabbed a chair from in front of the vanity, dragging it over to the tub at a place near Byleth’s head. She settled back into the seat, reaching over to stroke Byleth’s hair, her fingernails digging lightly into her scalp.

“Forgive me, excitement and all, darling.” 

Byleth leaned into Manuela’s hand. “No need to ask for forgiveness, it’s already yours,” she said. She closed her eyes, and let Manuela continue to run her fingers along her scalp, tracing down along her scalp until her nails met the back of her neck. “Tell me about your day.”

Manuela huffed, and took another sip of wine. Byleth opened her eyes to look up at her inverted image of Manuela, noticing the flush of red coming to her cheeks.

“Oh, it’s the same story as always,” Manuela began. ”I met the most gorgeous man, and I let him fill my head with sweet nothings and kisses, and truth be told, quite a lot more. We had a few drinks, a few laughs, and one thing leads to another, you know. But come the morning, he’s suddenly lost all interest in me. No more sweet words, no kiss farewell. This one at least was honest enough to tell me he wouldn’t call after me again. But these men! They use me, and then they leave as if I was nothing but a toy to them. I’m a romantic, my dear! My heart can only take so much before it breaks.” 

Manuela slumped over in her chair, nearly doubling over herself as she let her head fall into her lap. She was always a mess after one of her romances ended poorly. Byleth did not judge her for it. If anything, she considered it somewhat of a virtue in Manuela, that her heart could find room to love after it had been broken so many times before. With Manuela sitting within reach, Byleth propped herself up and over the edge of the tub to pat her leg, and sighed.

“I’m sorry to hear of it, Manuela. You know you always have my friendship and my love,” Byleth said.

Manuela sat up a bit. She began to idly play with the water in the tub, swirling her finger around in figure eights across the surface of the bath 

“If I didn’t, I think I might just give it all up and die. Thank the goddess for that.” 

She leaned forward, and took Byleth’s face in her hands. She kissed Byleth gently on the side of her forehead, not more than a quick peck at Byleth’s temple, before turning her gaze back to the bottle of wine. She sat back up, and took another sip from her glass. Byleth’s face felt warm. She placed a hand over the spot where Manuela had kissed. She took a sip from her own glass of wine, thinking she’d better hurry and finish it if she were to catch up with Manuela. 

“Be honest though,” Byleth asked, “have you never had anyone seriously in love with you? Not just the endless proposals of the opera, but someone who really, truly meant it? Other than me, of course.”

Manuela looked pensively at Byleth, her face knit together tight, and she squirmed a little in her chair. She tapped her pointer finger against her chin.

“Other than you?” Manuela laughed. She took another sip of wine. “Not really, no. Although, one of your own here at the monastery asked for my hand once during the war.” 

Byleth swallowed hard, choking down her sip of wine. It was the first she had heard of such a thing. She shifted a bit in the tub, leaning in closer to Manuela.

“Oh? Is that so?” she cautioned, trying to sound as unaffected as possible.

“Yes. Do you remember Ferdinand? Handsome young thing,” Manuela drawled. Byleth nodded.

“How could I ever forget Ferdinand von Aegir? He would be offended to even think of it.” She cocked her brow at Manuela. “I knew he was quite smitten with you, but I had not realized he was serious.”

“Oh, dead serious.” Manuela replied. She topped off her glass, and without needing to ask, did the same for Byleth. “Yes, he was — is, I imagine — a sweet young man. I think if I had been willing to give it a shot, I actually could have been quite content with him. He truly did adore me, but I don’t think he could ever love me as much as he loved himself, and—”

Manuela leaned in close to Byleth, gesturing for Byeth to do the same. She obliged the request, and brought her face close to Maneula’s. Manuela dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. 

“I couldn’t help but imagine, in the throes of passion, he was more likely to call out his own name than mine.” 

Byleth burst out in laughter. Without meaning to, she slapped an arm down across the bubbles and sent them flying across the room. Manuela began to laugh as well even as her own dress was covered in a fine spray of bubbles. 

“I didn’t need that particular mental image,” Byleth choked out between fits of giggles.

“You cannot say that I am _wrong,_ though, my dear.”

Reaching out to Manuela to steady her, Byleth rose up and out of the tub, still laughing to herself. Manuela brought her over a plush white robe to wrap up in, following her as she made her way to her side of the bed, laying down and patting a spot on the mattress next to her. Manuela obliged, and sprawled out on her back beside Byleth.

“You know,” Manuela said, “I should ask you the same.”

“What, whether I thought Ferdinand calls out his own name during sex?”

Manuela reached over and slapped Byleth’s arm.

“No, don’t be a smart-ass! I want to know about _you_ ,” Manuela implored, her expression suddenly shifting into something much more sincere. “I want to know everything, whether you’ve had any trysts, or some secret affair you’ve been carrying on with. I always end up talking about myself; it’s a terribly selfish habit of mine. But you can’t tell me you haven’t struck up any romances of your own, even if just for a night.” Manuela rolled over onto her side so that she could look at Byleth face to face. Byleth sighed.

“In what time? No, I have far too little of myself being spread across far too many requests. I haven’t had so much as the odd night with someone since…goddess, I don’t even know when. Years, to say the least.” She buried her head back deeper into her mattress as her face screwed itself up into a grimace. “And besides that, with whom am I supposed to be having some illicit affair? Hanneman? I will politely pass, thank you.” Manuela groaned at Byleth’s response.

“Well, definitely not Hanneman. There are plenty of other fish in the sea, as they say. Goddess, even stodgy old Seteth is at least handsome enough to do the trick.”

Byleth tried to stifle a laugh, but couldn’t contain herself. 

“Don’t tell me you fancy Seteth now, do you?”

Manuela shook her head. “Oh dear, no. I can admit to having looked him over once or twice when we first met, but he obviously had no such eyes for me, or for anyone else, for that matter. I think you are the only person who’s managed to hold Seteth’s attention for longer than it him to judge someone.” 

“His judgement is certainly an unparalleled talent,” Byleth said with a roll of her eyes. She sat silent for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose I do rely on him a fair amount for guidance, though. I imagine he keeps an eye on me out of concern.”

“Just concern?” Manuela asked, her eyebrow raising slightly. “There’s nothing more to those office hours you keep?”

“Well, he is a friend too, much like you are. Every now and again we can manage to spare about a breath for some lighter conversation— but truly, most of our time is solely dedicated to business.”

“Hmm,” Manuela rolled back over onto her back, exhaling with a huff. “Youth is wasted on the young. You should be out there falling in and out of love everyday. And as queen? Let’s say I wouldn’t let that title mean nothing.”

“Perhaps if I had some of your boldness I would find someone, but it’s been far from a priority,” she said. “And what if I did suddenly make time for someone else in my life, what room does that leave for you and I? We couldn’t have that happen.”

Manuela feigned shock at the thought, pulling a look of disgust and awe. Ever the actress, she mimed putting a hand over her heart as though it strained violently in her chest against the mere insinuation, breathing out in little huffs.

“Well of course not!” Manuela declared. “I might keel over in jealousy. But also, I would be happy for you. You deserve someone who takes care of you just as much as you take care of me.”

Byleth found herself at a loss for words. She never thought herself as deserving of anything. She simply saw a need, and would fill it. When she arrived at Garreg Mach and was asked to teach, she fashioned herself into a professor. When there was war and a general was needed, she took on the role without question. When Fodlan found itself united but without a ruler, she rose to the position of queen. What she gave of herself, she gave freely, and she did so without expecting any favors in return. Perhaps she should have been asking for them, but there were always so many others who needed so much more. She blinked up at the ceiling, trying to push away at the heavy feeling that was starting to sink into her chest.

“Maybe in another lifetime,” Byleth said. “But for now, I have you, and I have those I can call my friends. Maybe that’s enough for me.” 

Manuela stroked Byleth’s cheek. Byleth wrapped her arm around Manuela’s waist, and curled herself up tight next to her. Feeling herself slipping into the comfort of her warmth, she quickly began to drift off to sleep. Manuela cradled her as she dozed, her hand occasionally reaching over to stroke through her hair.

Byleth didn’t stir until the crowning light of the early morning began to creep through her window. She blinked a few times, looking at the empty space beside her. Manuela must have snuck off hours ago, leaving her to wake as she always did, alone. She knew it was for the sake of her propriety that Manuela had stolen away in the middle of the night, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit hollow inside as she looked over at the spot where someone else had laid. She looked at the soft indentation left in the covers, reaching out towards it, wishing it still retained some of its warmth from someone else. 


	4. Chapter 4

“No, I refuse!” Byleth slammed a fist down across her desk. “Absolutely not!”

Seteth strode across the floor, bringing himself to face Byleth. With a shift of his shoulders and a sharp intake of air, he made himself stand up with military-straight form. Even as he stood so high over her, she refused to cower, refused to turn her burning eyes away from him..

“You cannot simply refuse, you have not even heard the matter out. There are certain advantages, which you fail to even consider!”

Byleth brought herself to her full height as well, shoving her chair behind her with a clatter. The day was near its end, and of course he had saved the most contentious item on the agenda for last. She knew the game he was playing with her; wait until she was already tired from a day of long negotiations, and hope that she’d be too exhausted to fight back. It was a tactic she used to employ during some of her earlier and more fraught negotiations with the noble lords and ladies of Fodlan. She would not let her own strategy be turned against her; she instead let the anger burn like a hot coal inside of her, fueling her own resolve. She glowered at him.

“I am not leaving Garreg Mach. I _refuse_.” Byleth stared at Seteth, a sneer like a wolf’s coming to her face. He brought his arms across his chest, folding them tight.

“You are not being asked to leave Garreg Mach forever; you are being asked to simply consider relocating and choosing a new capital city of Fodlan. It is unwise to continue on like this, operating entirely from within these walls. Remember, we are first and foremost a school. You are inviting any dissenters to attack _children_ if you continue to act as though it is the de facto capital. Not to mention, you would do well to have some degree of separation between the state and the church, especially considering you just fought a war over the damned matter! Please, think of the ramifications.”

Byleth scoffed.

“And we defended the monastery through said war; are you saying we could not do so again?” she spat back at him. Her lungs burned as her voice grew deeper and louder in her chest. “Do you think I would let a single hair be harmed on the head of one of the students before I drove off any threats myself? Have you so little faith in me, Seteth?”

Byleth let the question sit in the air, its echo crashing against the walls of the office. She clenched her jaw hard, teeth grinding down against one another. Finally, Seteth looked down. He closed his eyes, and brought a hand to his temple, rubbing small circles at the spot. When he spoke, his voice had lost its biting edge, becoming much quieter now than the still-ringing tones of her words.

“No, of course not. If I have faith in anything, it is in you,” Seteth said. He raised his brow to look up at Byleth, the fury having dissipated from his sharp features. Instead, the indignation had been replaced with the much gentler, but equally troubling look of concern. “I simply ask, why must you stay here in Garreg Mach? There is an entire country outside of these walls. Why not go anywhere else?”

Byleth’s throat tightened and her mouth went dry. She felt as though a hand was reaching inside of her, wringing the air from her lungs. She blinked in silence, not wanting to let him see this as a moment of weakness, or worse yet, a victory. Try as she might though, she could not help herself, and her voice shattered as she spoke.

“Because this place is my home. Because I’ve wandered across the whole of this country as a mercenary, and never stopped before I came here. Because damn near every person I have ever cared about I met in these halls. Because my mother, my father, are buried here. And because if I go anywhere else, I...I am alone. And I’d rather be buried in the ground next to them than let that happen.”

Byleth turned away. Her shoulders dropped, and from deep in her chest came a low, shuddering breath. She brought her hands to her face for a moment, pinching her cheeks to distract herself from the stinging sensation that was taking hold of her inside. No, she could not allow this. She willed herself to stop, taking a deep breath and balling her hands into fists. She heard the soft tap of Seteth’s step as he walked around the desk, stopping just shy of her. She swallowed and shivered as she allowed herself a moment more to draw another breath before turning around to face him.

His stance had altered itself entirely. He no longer bore the stiff posture of her stalwart advisor; his shoulders fell in a soft slope, his arms dropped in surrender to his side. He looked almost entirely a different man as he reached out his hand towards hers. She did not object as he clasped it, letting him rub soft circles along the top of it with his thumb. He was not an entirely unaffectionate person, having shown some care to her on the battlefield when she had been injured, but she still found it odd whenever he did reach out. She looked down at her hand within his, smaller but coarser than his own.

“Please forgive me,” he said. “I am afraid that I was being inconsiderate, and had not fully considered your feelings on the matter. For this, I truly am sorry. And I do not mean to suggest that you are not welcome to stay here at Garreg Mach. If this is where you truly feel at home, then I would not be so callous as to take that away from you.”

Seteth squeezed her hand tighter, brushing his thumb across the top of her calloused knuckles. Byleth swallowed down her held breath and unclenched her jaw as she turned her eyes up to his face.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. Seteth gave a small nod and let her hand go. She clenched and unclenched it at her side, fingers still fidgeting as they wrapped one over the other while she took her time to steady her breath.

Seteth began to walk towards the door, opening it a crack before looking back over his shoulder at her.

“Come with me,” he beckoned. She looked at him quizzically. Her nervous fingers paused, and instead she blinked at him, a small crease forming in her brow. He shook his head in response, as if to cast aside any aspersions on the behalf of his behavior. “Please— would you humor me by walking with me for a moment?”

After a second’s hesitation, Byleth nodded, stepping out into the hall. She could not read the expression on Seteth’s face, though the small smirk at the corner of his lips concerned her slightly. He closed the door behind them and turned to offer his arm to her. She looped her arm through his, placing her free hand on top of his forearm, her brow ticking upward briefly as she noted the firmness of the lean muscle that twitched under her hand.

“Are you taking me for a midnight stroll, or—?” she asked.

“Something like that,” he replied.

He led them through the halls of the monastery, down the stairs, and through the entrance hall. Night drew in around them, and there was not a soul to be seen in the dark corridors of the monastery grounds. She wondered what exactly she had agreed to, and where she was being led. Nevertheless, she trusted Seteth’s intentions, even if she had no inclination of what those might be. The more they walked together, the more she felt at ease, leaning in closer to him as he guided her along their path.

A few turns and a short straightaway brought them to the training grounds. Seteth let go of her arm, and fumbled through his pocket to pull out a twisted iron key. He unlocked the door, holding it open before her. Byleth had to let her eyes adjust to the utter darkness of the facilities. Her fingers traced along the walls until she came upon a torch that she lit with the touch of her hand and a muttered spell. She carried along until all of the torches were aglow with flame and the hall was bathed in their flickering light. Seteth closed the door behind them, relocking it as Byleth took her position at the center of the room.

“What exactly—“ she began to ask. Her words were cut short as Seteth took a wooden training sword from the wall and threw it towards her. She caught it without thought, taking the hilt in her hand and swinging the sword down to her side. She turned the handle of the blade over a few times in her palm.

“Now,” Seteth said, grabbing a wooden lance from the wall, “hit me.”

“I’m sorry?” Byleth asked. Seteth shook his head as he walked over to her.

“You heard me. Hit me. I know you have been frustrated, and that you have been fighting with yourself for quite some time. This is not enough to fix those troubles, but if it helps you release some of the tension you are holding onto, then go ahead and try. Hit me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She swung the sword in an arc at her side, getting a feel for the wooden weapon in her hand. She calculated its weight and momentum as it cut through the air. A hint of a grin came to her face. “What if I accidentally break my poor advisor?”

Seteth laughed before he took a defensive stance in front of her, angling his lance across his body, his feet planted firm and wide.

“You are more than welcome to try. You boast, but the truth of the matter is that you’re stalling—strike.”

Byleth rolled her eyes at him, feeling a tinge of childish pride when he scoffed at her. She took up the wooden sword. She brought it up to a guard position that she held at level with her shoulders and exhaled through her teeth. With a quick fury, she lunged at Seteth, her muscles burning at the sudden attack. She straightened her arms and took aim at his ribs. The blow never connected, as he deflected the strike with an easy flick of his lance, sending a shock of recoil through her arms. Byleth let a low growl rise out of her as she bared her teeth.

“I know you can do better than that. Hit me.”

“Shut up and keep blocking.” She stepped back to reappraise the situation. She watched how he shifted his weight in response to her own minute movements, as though there was a thread running between them, connecting their every gesture in a game of push and pull.

Once again, Byleth lunged for her advisor in front of her. She could feel years of fury coming to a head in her body, screaming to be released. Her muscles longed for it as she brought her sword down from up high to strike at his shoulder. With both hands, he brought his lance above his head, shoving off her attack and sending her skittering back a step. She did not wait for a taunt to attack again, as she glanced her sword down the length of his lance, angling down in the hopes of landing a strike to his shins. Once again, Seteth blocked off the incoming blow, and shoved back at her.

“You have the speed, but I have the reach,” he groaned out. He exhaled sharply as he brought the lance across him in a sweep. Byleth leapt back to avoid the blow to her midsection, barely landing on her toes before his missed attack hit the ground. “Think. I know you can beat me.”

Byleth took a minute, her eyes narrowing as she circled round him. She watched his stride, looking for a break. There. Almost imperceptible, but there was a slight shortness in his step as he pivoted left to follow her motions, his ankle rolling ever so slightly as he moved onto it. She smiled, once again raising her sword and lunging ahead. She cried out as she went for a blow to his left hip. Reacting instantly, Seteth’s lance came down to deflect the attack. Byleth’s smile did not break though, and he barely had a moment to furrow his brow in question before she landed a sharp kick to his right shin.

Seteth let out a small yelp as he fell to his knees. Byleth did not waste a single breath as she hit Seteth’s ribs on the same side with the broad edge of her wooden sword. He clutched at the spot, rubbing at the quickly growing welt she had left behind. Byleth dropped her weapon to the ground and reached around to squeeze the air out of Seteth’s lungs as she used her full weight to push into his now softened side, grabbing his knee opposite and pulling it out from under him. His legs gave way beneath him as he was forced to topple to the ground, rolling over onto his back. Were she training a student, she would have called the spar at this point, but it wasn’t enough for her. She moved as quickly as she could to first pin his chest down with her leg, then rolled her hips over to straddle him, squeezing at his ribs with her knees. She reached down to the floor next to her, and brought her sword to his throat, forcing him to tilt his head back to look at her.

“That was a dirty trick,” he said, his words coming through strained breaths. Byleth laughed, digging the point of her sword harder into his neck.

“No such thing as a dirty trick if it keeps you alive. Jeralt taught me that. Now go on and say it,” She tightened her knees around Seteth’s ribs, making him wince. “Say it,” she repeated.

“You win. I surrender.” He put his hands above his head, his eyes glinting with the flickering amber light from the torches burning bright around them.

She withdrew her sword from his throat, and slid it as far as she could across the ground. She rolled herself off of his chest, a triumphant smile on her face as she sat on her knees next to him. Seteth did not immediately move. He took his time to pause and catch his breath. Byleth took a moment to do the same, breathing deep. She looked over, and patted him on the chest.

“You’re not really hurt, are you? I didn’t actually break you?” she asked.

Seteth shook his head. Byleth offered her hand to help him sit up. He took it gratefully, groaning as he brought himself upright.

“I thought you said you were not hurt?” She looked him up and down as she chastised him, scanning for injury.

Seteth waved off the concern. “Nothing that will not heal with a night’s rest. Although you might have left me with a few new bruises,” he said, as he rubbed at his side. She rolled her eyes, and pulled his hand away.

“No need to be prideful, let me see,” she said, her tone softer now.

She spread her fingers out across the expanse of his ribs, her hand glowing with a soft white light as she let the healing magic help her assess any injuries as they worked at them. She was not particularly adept with white magic, but she knew enough to patch up a scrape here or there. The bulky fabric of Seteth’s robes did not help as she tried to feel out any injuries. She closed her eyes as her roving hands felt for the heat of a bruise or laceration, just barely decipherable under the layers of wool and linen. The welt at his side burned hot as her palm slid across it, though it was small enough that even she was able to mend the spot with relative ease. She could feel the faded marks of other injuries like a path of flames along the body, scars that had not been entirely healed on the battlefield burning under her fingertips. She started to trace along the path of one that spread from his ribs to his chest before stopping herself — she wouldn’t be able to do anything for those. She doubted even a seasoned healer like Manuela would be able to entirely fade away those marks.

Byleth drew her hand away, and clapped them together in her lap, rocking back onto her heels.

“It’s not much, but it’s better than the mark that was going to form there,” she said with a shrug.

“I appreciate it. And you? You are—”

“Feeling much better,” she said. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.” She rose to her feet, giving Seteth her hands and helping him to do the same. He nodded his head and brushed off his robes as he rose to his full height.

“As I have told you before, anything for your happiness. Although next time I might do well to remember how hard you can hit.”

He retrieved the wooden weapons from the floor, replaced them along the wall, and unlocked the door once again. Byleth again reached for his arm, this time so that she may lead him.

“Come by my quarters in the morning if you’re still sore, and I’ll give you a salve to help. I always keep some on hand,” she said. Seteth nodded in acknowledgment, though made no comment in return, rather seeming to bite his tongue.

She led him back to his quarters, bidding him goodnight at his door before she turned on her heels and marched off back down the empty hallways, winding her way towards the stairs to her room. She felt lighter than she had in months, practically bouncing as she ascended the steps. Before she blew out the candles and oil lamps for the night, she took a jar of salve out of a drawer and placed it on top of her vanity. A reminder for her in the morning, but even now, she had a feeling it would not be asked for or needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are spars a cliche? Yes.  
> Am I still a sucker for them? Also yes.


	5. Chapter 5

Marianne and Linhardt’s wedding drew closer, and Byleth was beginning to feel restless. True enough, her travel and accommodations had already been arranged, but she could not quiet the gnawing feeling of worry growing at her gut. What made it all the more troublesome was that she could not pinpoint the exact source of her anxiety, if there even was one to be named. There were no plans left to make, no arrangements forgotten, no vestment left unpacked. She would be leaving by carriage the next day, with Seteth coming along to intercept any pressing matters of state, and Alois in tow as her bodyguard. She had objected to the idea of the ensemble. The extra precautions were something that she considered to be entirely unnecessary; she would only be gone for two, perhaps three days at most. While she appreciated the concern, she reminded Seteth that she was more than capable of keeping herself safe on the road. Seteth had been aghast at the suggestion — if Byleth recalled correctly, it was not only a “foolish” idea, but “reckless” as well, not to mention an “utterly inconceivable” suggestion. She had been called worse before, much worse. She did not see the need for fuss when it came to her protection. But then again…

She thought back to her spar with Seteth. It had done her great good to let out some of the rage she had not realized was building up like a hurricane inside of her. As she swung the wooden blade, lifeless and light as it may be, she could feel the fire roaring inside of her once more, threatening to consume her entirely if she did not make efforts to provide a proper pyre for the inferno. It was as though her muscles had forgotten that they yearned for battle. Each movement with a blade in hand was like a dance that she feared she had forgotten the steps to. As she swung her sword, her legs pulsed with a screaming energy, just waiting to bound in the direction of her prey, to hunt and pursue.

And yet she had not been able to land a single strike, not without resorting to what was in hindsight something of a low-blow. Had she been at the top of her form, Seteth should have faltered easily at her attacks. She was fast, ruthless, and furious on the battlefield— in this regard, her reputation preceded her. She had not earned the nickname the Ashen Demon for nothing. But at their bout, Seteth had been able to counter her easily. She wondered if perhaps he had even been holding back, refusing to hit his queen when he easily could have brought her to her knees.

_No_. She let the thought fade from her mind. She was simply out of practice, distracted by— well, by a great deal many things. Her duties. Her position. A desire not to hurt her friend. In combination she was sure they had stolen away her focus, which was becoming something of a diminishing resource in the current days.

With her travel plans to Margrave Edmund’s estate imminent, the number of requests that came across her desk had seemingly quadrupled. It was as though every notable person in Fodlan had received news of her travel plans, and desperately penned every request they could think of for her to approve prior to her departure. She couldn’t help but find it somewhat macabre. Each request was like a timer she bore over her head, pressing down on her and arduously counting down to the very moment of her departure from office, each a reminder of her constituents’ fears of a permanent absence. She worked late into the night, Seteth lighting the lamps about her office when the sun began to set. Her hand grew sore from clutching her pen and signing her name to so many documents. She set the pen down upon its rest and stretched her hand as Seteth continued to thumb through yet another bundle of parchments.

“Am I to expect such a deluge of trivialities in advance of all of my travel plans?” Byleth asked. She rubbed her wrist, flexing her fingers and squeezing in between the joints. Seteth looked over the top of his documents at her, shrugging.

“In all likelihood. There is no grand conspiracy to the matter; as queen, your movements are hard to keep entirely private. Any disruption to your regular routine is likely to spur a flurry of incoming requests.”

Byleth groaned. She took up her pen once again, annotating the next parchment in her stack.

“Please say we do not have to bring any of these matters with us once we leave. I already dislike carriage rides. I hate feeling like I’m trapped in a tiny box. To add paperwork to the mix would be torture.” She groaned as she moved on to the next document, a pressure at the back of her head beginning to grow.

Seteth pulled a small notebook from his pocket, untying the ribbon that held it closed.

“I was unaware that you had a dislike for carriages. I will remember such in the future.” He flipped over a few pages in his notebook, then jotted down a line in the margins, tying it back up with a bow. “Nevertheless, you have no need to fear. I will, of course, have substantial reading material during our travels, but unless it is of the utmost urgency I see no need to get you involved. This is a time for you to breathe easily for a space; consider your duties ceded during the next few days.”

Byleth nodded, and signing once last parchment, pushed the stack of documents off to the side. She leaned forward to rest her head against her desk. She put both of her hands on the base of her skull and pressed lightly. Her palms began to knead small circles as they attempted to quell the radiating ache.

“I sometimes wish that I could cede all of my duties to you permanently. Go back to my life as a mercenary and forget politics forever. Life would be so much simpler, so much better for everyone.”

Byleth winced as the words came out of her mouth. As she was well aware, Seteth did not take kindly to those looking to shirk their responsibility. She once had watched him scold a student quite sternly for what felt like an hour when he had failed to attend his stable duties for the week. She braced for the incoming lesson, not wanting to lift her head and meet his disapproving glare.

“I would advise you not to voice such thoughts so loudly, even if they are in jest.” He sighed. “That said, I can understand the feeling.”

Lifting her head slightly to observe him with one eye, Byleth watched as he walked over to the fireplace to pour himself a cup of tea, though he seemed to have no interest in it once the cup was filled. She sat up tentatively.

“Is that so?” she cautioned, holding back her desire to needle further.

“Duty can sometimes feel like a noose threatening to tighten about your neck, but we are honor bound to fulfill our roles,” Seteth said, though his voice was noncommittal, sounding as though he were many miles away in his own head.

Byleth propped herself up on her elbow to stare at him, catching his eye with a crossed brow and an unblinking insistence for further elaboration.

“I think you enjoy being cryptic far more than the average man, Seteth,” she chided him. He shook his head at this, turning to stare at the dying embers of the fire in the hearth. Byleth continued to watch him, though waited for him to speak of his own accord. Finally, he sighed, closing his eyes as he spoke.

“It was a very long time ago, mind you. But when Flayn was born I was of two minds. Surely, it was the happiest day of my life, but the thought of fatherhood, of being responsible for the care of such a fragile and precious life… it terrified me. It was a responsibility that I felt unready and ill-prepared for.” Seteth sighed, and shifted his weight nervously between his feet. “My fear of failing her quickly grew into an ever-present sense of sheer terror. There was simply not enough of me to give to her. I dared not say these things to my wife as I did not wish to worry her, but I let myself fall into the belief that they deserved someone more courageous and steadfast than I.

“It was fear that planted these ideas in my heart, and I, being a coward, listened to them. I let these fears whisper to me during every quiet hour, and the longer I listened, the more they grew. They came to a head once I lost my wife, and very nearly my daughter as well. Flayn was so small and weak then, I thought she might be lost to sleep forever. My every fear had been realized; I had failed my wife and my daughter. I knew that I could not undo what was already done, though that did nothing to quiet the voice that told me that Flayn still deserved better.”

Seteth stopped to take a breath. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, as though by speaking he had reawakened some of his own long-slumbering fears. Byleth felt as though she should be saying or doing something, but her tongue felt like cotton in her too-dry mouth, and she found that she could not will her legs to move her forward. Seteth shook his head, taking a breath before he straightened himself where he stood.

“The problem with thinking this way is that if there had been someone more suitable to take my role, they would have done so long ago. Yet no one else rose to the occasion. I was alone in my task, abandoned to a role I felt ill-equipped to handle, and that threatened to overwhelm me at any given moment. It was terrifying, but I did what must be done, taking it on one day at a time when necessary. On most days, simply being present was enough. Start with that, and everything else eventually follows. I love my daughter with all of my heart, with every fiber of my being, but fear let me believe that my love was not enough for her. I tell you these things not to spur some type of pity for me, but so that you understand that we all have our fears and shortcomings that sow doubt in ourselves. You must push through; you are stronger than you believe. Do not give up yet, when what you need is simply a little more time to grow accustomed to the role you have been blessed with.”

“I—“ Byleth tried to think of a response, any response, that would feel adequate. Her mind felt empty and yet too full at the same time, and she cursed herself for not being more eloquent. Seteth smiled faintly at her. She sputtered through several incomprehensible syllables as the wheels in her head continued to turn with no destination in sight.

“You need not say anything,” Seteth said. “I ask only that you try to be braver, and try to be better than me.”

He turned away from her, taking his still full cup of tea and tossing the contents into the roaring fireplace. The logs sizzled and hissed as the flames licked up to consume the dregs of tea leaves. He moved to let himself out the door.

Damn the weight like anchors in her legs. Using all the effort she could muster, Byleth rose to her feet, crossed the floor, and caught Seteth by the arm. His brow raised as he turned his head to observe his arm caught in her grasp. She squeezed hard as she pulled his arm back towards her, forcing him to face her. Before he could raise his voice to question her, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. She let her face press close to his chest and her fingers wrap in the folds of his robes as she squeezed, breathing deeply.

“You’re a good father, Seteth.” She pressed her face deeper into his chest as she spoke, her voice muffled by the fabric. “And you’re a good man. You are brave, I know this.”

With her ear pressed close to Seteth’s chest, she could hear the small hitch in his breath, the irregular beat of his fluttering heart.

“I cannot agree to that. In more ways than you could know, I am a coward,” he said quietly, though Byleth quickly shushed him, grabbing him tighter than before.

“I don’t believe you.”

His whole body was tense in her arms, like he was a clock that had been wound far too tight. It only made her all the more determined to hold fast. She did not, and would not, relent her grip. With caution, Seteth’s form began to soften. Carefully, he placed one hand on the back of her head, and the other at her back. His fingers wound their way through her hair, and the hand at her back drew her closer. She continued to hold him until she could hear the rhythm of his heart steadying and could feel the tension dissipating from his body. With his breath and heart calmed, she could feel him rest his chin against the top of her head, his breath once more beginning to steady itself. Byleth was reluctant to admit the sense of ease she began to feel, for she knew as soon as she did, she must force the moment to end.

She softened her grip, and dropped her arms away from him. Seteth released his hold as well. Byleth took a step back and began to fidget with her blouse, pretending to smooth out a non-existent wrinkle. She found herself unable to look her advisor in the eye, her face already growing hot. She cleared her throat and pushed the door to her office open while staring at the ground.

“It’s getting late— you should get some rest before we leave.”

She continued to look at her feet, the floor— anywhere but up at him. She did not want him to see the flush coming to her cheeks. She had overstepped her bounds. She was certain of it. Goddess, she really should stop to think sometimes.

Seteth stepped forward, hesitating for a moment in front of her. Byleth held her breath, waiting for what felt like the span of eternity before Seteth angled himself away from her, turning to face the hall.

“Right. Of course. Goodnight, your majesty.”

Byleth waited for a moment as she listened to soft sound of Seteth's footfall as he walked away, then exhaled loudly as soon as she believed him to be far enough down the hall to not hear.

_Stupid_ , so very stupid. It was inappropriate of her to take such a position with her advisor. She should have listened to the weight in her legs telling her to stand down. If Sothis was still watching her, she was surely laughing at her idiocy. Fine, then. She deserved the ridicule. 

She had already been dreading the carriage ride the next morning, but now the twisting and churning of her gut felt as though it had doubled. It would be a long ride to Margrave Edmund's territory. She prayed the goddess would give her the good sense to not make a fool of herself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely here for all of the sad dad Seteth. And also maybe a return to driving forward plot in the slightest, if that even exists.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic I’m posting here. I used to write tons and tons while I was in school, and it’s been fun diving back into writing with some fluff and characters I genuinely love. I have a fair chunk of this already drafted, so I’m hoping I can post pretty regularly (at least until I run out of what’s already written). If there are any tags that you think I should add, or any warnings that apply, let me know and I’m happy to update! 
> 
> Just some quick head-canon-y notes for clarification: I def picture both Seteth and Byleth settling back into the idea of there being some type of social hierarchy they need to adhere to after Byleth takes on the role of ruler of Fodlan. Things are different when you’re fighting together, and you can afford to be more casual with one another, but some semblance of formality between them creeps its way back into their life after the end of the war. It’s a comfort in a way — a distance that you use to protect yourself. But don’t worry, I’m gonna break that distance down, piece by little piece. Buckle in for the slowest of slow burns because I’m a sucker for looooots of pining in silence.


End file.
